“And your sister?” she asked. “Tell me about Miss Darcy.”
The question sent warmth through his chest, knowing she was curious about his life, his family, and the people who mattered to him.
“She is almost sixteen, shy, musical, and far too trusting.” The familiar pain tightened his throat. “I have perhaps been overprotective since our father died. She has no mother to guide her, only Richard and me. I fear I am inadequate to the task of raising a young woman.”
“You love her,” Elizabeth said simply. “That is not inadequate.”
If only it were that simple.
“Love is not always sufficient protection.” The words sounded bitter in his ears.
“Why not?” She was gentle, inviting confidence.
He had not spoken to anyone outside the family about Georgiana's near elopement. Even Richard knew only the barest facts. But Elizabeth was asking, and he wanted to tell her. He needed her to understand why he was careful with trust,protective to the point of severity, and cautious with those he did not know well.
“She was nearly deceived by someone I once trusted into a…a quick journey to Scotland,” he said carefully. “Someone who once was a friend. It was only by chance that I discovered the scheme in time to prevent her ruin.”
He easily recalled the tears staining Georgiana’s face when he confronted Wickham at Ramsgate. How close they came to disaster.
“How terrible for her,” Elizabeth said. “For both of you.”
Her sympathy soothed him. She understood. Not the details since he could not share those, not yet, but the weight of the events. The fear. The responsibility.
“It taught me to be even more cautious,” he said. Then, meeting her eyes, “And yet with you, I find I cannot be cautious at all. I can only be honest.”
“I prefer honesty.”
“Do you?” He smiled despite himself. “That is well, because I seem incapable of anything else in your presence.”
It was true. Every carefully constructed wall he had built around himself crumbled when she was near. She had defeated his reserve in far fewer moves than she had in the first game she won at chess.
She began telling him about her own family then—her frustration with her mother’s schemes, her love for her father despite his sardonic distance, her hopes of seeing more of the world than Hertfordshire.
“You would love the Lake District,” he said, imagining her there with an ardor that bordered on physical pain. “The landscapes are extraordinary. Perhaps?—”
He stopped himself just in time. He wanted to say, ‘Perhaps we could travel together, and you could see them with me as my wife.’Too much. Too soon, Darcy!
“Perhaps?” she prompted.
“Perhaps someday you might see them,” he finished carefully.
But he saw understanding in her eyes. She knew what he had not said. And it did not appear to frighten her.Thank heavens!
They walked on, and Darcy committed to memory the way the morning light caught in her dark hair, the sound of her laugh when he made an unexpectedly dry observation about Bingley’s enthusiasm, and the way she listened—truly listened—when he spoke, as if his words mattered to her.
This was what he had been drawing in his study every evening. This feeling of being seen, of being known, of being worth knowing.
If he could capture this in the final pieces, if he could show her what he saw when he looked at her—not only beauty, but intelligence, courage, compassion, fire—perhaps she would comprehend why he loved her. Why he would always love her. Why four moves were all it took to checkmate his heart completely.
9
By late afternoon, the house was in an uproar. The apothecary had been called, and Mrs. Nicholls was directing the servants with unusual urgency.
Elizabeth’s heart seized. Jane lay pale and feverish in her bed; the improvement of the morning had vanished. Mr. Jones’s expression was grave.
“What has happened? This came so rapidly. She fell asleep this afternoon with no sign of fever. When she woke…” Elizabeth took her sister’s hand. It burned with heat.
“Having a fever return is not uncommon with these autumn chills.” The apothecary ordered a fresh bowl of water. “Your sister must be kept cool and quiet. The next twenty-four hours will tell us if this is merely a setback or if it is far more serious.”
